


you were trouble by design

by lowtides



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Angst, F/M, Slow Build, emotionally charged frisking, unapologetic references to other games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-04 19:43:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17904392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lowtides/pseuds/lowtides
Summary: Rook worked undercover for ten months in the Eden's Gate Mob. About a week after she left, she gets a message from Jacob Seed. She has some regrets.





	you were trouble by design

**Author's Note:**

> hey friends long time no jacob/rook, here's a one shot that i kind of want to continue but i don't think i can? idk yall
> 
> [link if you want a lil' more info on the mob au before you read](https://lowtldes.tumblr.com/post/181607037287/for-the-headcanon-thing-how-about-mafia-au-d)
> 
> also heads up for those who might not know - lonny is a character from _far cry absolution_ , which i have not read, but i think lonny's cool
> 
> title song: [Too Late To Say Goodbye](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JxL4XVs_B9M) \- Cage The Elephant

_Apartments. 08:00. Come alone._

“Asshole,” Rook mutters, anxiously checking her phone for the sixth time to make sure she’s not hallucinating. The text message is there, clear as day, glaring up at her from the cracked screen of her phone.

She rubs her thumb across the little text bubble, as if she can wipe away the words like they’re a smudge on her screen. Sure, she can just delete the message, delete the entire conversation, delete his goddamn contact, but if Rook’s being honest with herself, she’s stalling.

Rook plans to throw the whole phone away, she does. Really. She does.

It’s just that she might have a little trouble letting go of ten months of working undercover as security for the Seed Family. What if she gets some useful information, right? What if she needs to contact any of the Seeds for some kind of deal?

As if any of the Seeds or their underlings would ever speak to her without shooting first.

Then _why_ has Jacob fucking Seed summoned her to the Seed family’s apartments? More importantly, _why_ did she actually come?

It’s not like she’s been hitting the Bliss or anything, no, anyone who worked under Jacob’s command was forbidden from indulging in Faith’s product. _I guess I’m just out of my fucking mind._

Rook gets out of her car with a sigh and crosses the street, finishing her coffee with a few greedy gulps before tossing the cup into the overflowing garbage can on the sidewalk.

The two guards outside the building give her the stink eye, knowing exactly who she is. Jacob’s ex-second-in-command. A traitor. An undercover cop. A snake in the garden.

“I’m here to see Jacob,” Rook says firmly. She’s not gonna let a couple of disposables intimidate her. “He wanted to see me.”

“You’re not welcome here no more, _sinner,”_ one of them spits, then literally spits on the ground in front of her.

“Check with one of the Chosen,” Rook glares. “Feeney or Lonny or whoever the fuck they hired to replace me. I’m getting into this building, whether you like it or not.”

The guard glares right back at her, and the two of them are caught in a staring match, waiting to see who cracks first. It’s one of Rook’s vacation days and it’s too goddamn early to deal with this bullshit, but she’s gonna stand out here all fucking day if she has to wait for this guy to crack.

“Uh, hey,” the other guard says, clearing his throat. “I think Jacob _did_ send word down the line that he was expecting someone—”

“He didn’t,” the guard stuck in her staring contest hisses, “don’t be a fucking coward. We can’t let her through.”

Rook unlocks her phone without breaking eye contact, she knows she’s left his text on as the first thing on her screen. She holds it up, flashing the screen. “He sent this to me. Last night. Who do you think he’s gonna have _words_ with if he finds out I wasn’t let into the building?”

“Okay, okay, we really should—”

“She’s a traitor, and she’s _not_ authorized.” The guard’s eye twitches. He seems to be turning red. “We’re not letting her in—”

“How ‘bout I call him?” Rook says breezily, muscle memory helping her tap away to her phone app without looking. “I’m _sure_ Jacob will want to talk—”

“Let her through!” The other guard caves, nudging the reluctant guard hard on the shoulder and stepping aside for Rook. “Just. Just go. If you’re really not allowed inside, Jacob will shoot you himself, right? Go on in.”

_Fuck. He might have just called me over here to shoot me in the head._

“Thanks,” Rook deadpans. She steps past the guards, right through the doors to the lobby with a sigh, trying to calm her anxious thoughts. Anxious as they are, they make sense. Why the _fuck_ did she come here without back up, without telling anybody?

Guess it’s harder than she thought to weasel Jacob’s authority out of her head.

One of the elevators arrive just a second after she hits the button. Rook stands in front as the _ding!_ tells her the doors are opening. It’s on its way up, coming from the basement levels. As the door opens, Rook finds herself dreading who she’s gonna see inside the elevator. _Don’t be a Seed don’t be a Seed don’t be a Seed._

The doors open, and the first thing she’s hit by is the familiar mingling scents of whiskey and blood, along with _JOHN SEED_ in bold black ink.

“Well, well. Look who it fucking is.”

Rook sighs and steps into the elevator. She keeps her distance. “Hi, Lonny. Gonna kill me?”

Lonny’s lips curl into a sneer, then he relaxes, leaning back against the wall of the elevator and drumming his gloved— _bloodstained_ gloved fingers against his thighs. The doors close, and Rook does her best to not shift uncomfortably in the presence of her ex-coworker-slash-homicidal-friend.

“Nah,” he says casually, but his fingers twitch. He wants to strangle the life out of her, she knows. “Figured you’d be dead already if we wanted it. No use getting this elevator all bloody over something John won’t give me the order for.”

“Aw, thanks,” Rook says dryly. “I didn’t know you could be so sentimental.”

Rook moves to press the button for the Seeds’ floor, only to see that the button’s already lit.

“Gonna pay the big bad wolf a visit?” Lonny asks, tone dripping with malice.

“Yep,” Rook sighs, rolling her eyes at Lonny’s nickname for Jacob. What she says next slips out before she even notices she’s speaking again. Old habits. “What about you, Lon? Reporting your business in the basement back to John?”

“Don’t do that,” Lonny hisses, standing up straight now. He glares daggers at her. “Don’t you fuckin’ pretend we’re still friendly, ‘cause we’re not. That’s on you.”

Rook grimaces, biting down on her tongue. She only nods in return, because she knows that if she speaks again she’ll probably make things worse.

Like a fucking godsend, the elevator slows to a halt. Over Lonny’s death glares, the elevator _dings!_ and the doors slide open. Lonny swings one hand forward, gesturing for her to step out first. Somehow, the nicety of it stings.

Rook steps out and turns the corner, knowing the floorplan by heart. She hears Lonny saunter out after her, walking in the other direction, towards the entrance to John’s penthouse.

“You better watch your back, _Deputy_ ,” Lonny’s voice echoes down the hall. “You never know who might wanna crack open that thick skull of yours after you showed your true nature.”

Rook tries her best not to dwell on whether or not that was a threat or a warning.

-

Jacob opens the door after her first knock. Rook’s hand is still floating where the door used to be, curled into a fist as if she’s ready to rap her knuckles on Jacob’s chin.

“You’re late,” is all he says, warm breath fanning across her raised fist. He steps away from the doorway, swinging the door open wider and jerking his head in motion for her to enter.

Rook glances her phone. _08:01._

“The meatheads outside the building held me up,” she replies, stepping into Jacob’s studio.

Jacob has the smallest apartment out of all the siblings. It’s still the biggest fucking studio apartment she’s ever been in, but she knows Joseph’s has a walk-in closet and guest room, Faith’s got a massive penthouse, and John has a fucking _swimming pool_ in his massive penthouse.

Jacob is just as dramatic as the rest of his family, but he’s always preferred simpler things. Rook and Lonny used to joke about how Jacob probably wouldn’t mind living in some tiny downtown studio with moldy walls and a broken fridge if John had no say in his family’s living situations.

Jacob quietly shuts the door and crosses his arms, scrutinizing Rook with narrowed eyes. Rook swallows hard, nervous about this whole damn thing, but she narrows her eyes right back at Jacob, refusing to crack under his cold gaze.

He looks like shit. Well, he almost _always_ looks like shit—bloodstained and faded shirts, the scarring, the sleepless nights purpling beneath his eyes—but this time around it’s worse than usual. Reminds her of times he’d get into arguments with Joseph, or the one time John was kidnapped by Pagan Min to shake them.

She looks away from him for a moment, eyes darting across the studio to the balcony where she knows an ashtray sits on a small metal table. There are still thin wisps of smoke rising from it. She knew it, she could smell it on him from here. He’s been smoking again. He only smokes when he’s _really_ stuck on something.

The circles around his eyes are more pronounced, even more like bruises than they usually are. There’s a cut high on his neck, just beneath his beard, dark red splotches of dried blood soaking through gauze. She recognizes the grey shirt he’s wearing, the pattern of old, faded blood splattered across the right shoulder. Pagan Min’s blood, if she remembers correctly.

She still remembers the massacre. _Only You_ , Jacob’s fucking calling card, playing softly in the background. Bodies strewn about. The smell of gunpowder and blood in the air. Pink suit crumpled in Jacob’s fist. Jacob beating the blond bastard within an inch of his life. Rook’s own strength useless in trying to pull Jacob off the other crime lord. John, bruised but whole, rope burn around his inked wrists, shrugging Lonny off and trying to help Rook calm Jacob.

_Jacob, stop it! We can’t have another war on our hands._

_He took you, John._

_And now he’s almost dead. He’s atoned. Let him go._

It’s only after John’s reasoning does Jacob surrender into Rook’s hold. Whenever she looks back at that night, some fucked up part of her thinks it was almost an embrace.

There’s a new shade of red painted across the chest of his shirt. A dark, vibrant red. Dry, but new. The smears look like fingerprints, like someone was grabbing desperately at him. Was it the same person who gave him that cut on his neck? Just another day in the life.

“What are you thinking?” Jacob asks, oh so casually, dragging her thoughts back into the present.

“You look like shit.”

“Always the charmer.”

“Could say the same about you,” Rook shrugs, shoving her hands into her pockets to stop from fidgeting. “Now what the hell did you call me here for?”

It’s only been a week since she last saw that piercing gaze. So much has changed in a week, including her tolerance for Jacob’s intensity. It’s either she’s imagining something different in the weight of his gaze, or she’s no longer accustomed to it.

Whatever it is, her skin crawls all the same.

She’s just waiting for a gun to be drawn at her, a knife pointed at her throat, a punch in the fucking face—anything. _Anything_ that’ll fucking make sense. After her cover was blown, she wasn’t able to see or speak to Jacob before she had to bail. There was no closure. Now here she is, a week later, basically letting herself be trapped in a room with big bad Jacob Seed, waiting for some kind of vengeance.

She never bought into Eden’s Gate, into the shit Joseph Seed preached, but deep down she regrets the attachments she had for some people—Faith, Lonny, _Jacob_ —she regrets her betrayal just because of them. She knew better than to like these people, but she did anyway, and now she’s here.

Maybe the reason she came here without a second thought was that she sought penance. Maybe she wants to _atone_. What better way to make up for betraying people she foolishly grew to care about than to let Jacob himself cull her?

But Jacob doesn’t move. He doesn’t draw a weapon. He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t fucking breathe.

“Wanted your opinion on something,” Jacob says slowly, as if he’s testing the words.

Rook blinks. “You wanted… my opinion on something.”

“Come on,” Jacob nods, and jerks his head for her to follow. He walks over past the kitchenette, socked feet padding softly on the marble floor, towards the large desk by the window.

Rook’s head is spinning. She doesn’t know how she actually decides to follow him. She could have floated all the way to the desk for all she knows, but suddenly she’s there, looking over the papers and blueprints scattered around the table while Jacob stands close enough to be practically breathing down her neck.

“I don’t work for you anymore, Jacob.”

He ignores her. “After that shit with Pagan Min went down, we need to secure another trade deal, new alliances. Joseph doesn’t like it, but John and Faith agree that we should look to other gangs.”

Rook chews on her lip. She squints at the papers, then glances back up to see that Jacob’s already looking at her. “Not a bad idea. Who do you have in mind?”

“The Highwaymen.”

“The twins? They’re a couple of loose cannons. That’s not gonna last.”

“True. Vaas Montenegro?”

Rook snorts. “Even _more_ of a loose cannon. Plus, he’s in the middle of a power struggle with his sister. Citra. I don’t think it’ll do you any good working with either of them.”

Jacob juts out his bottom lip, making a show of thinking. “Hm. The Van Der Linde MC.”

“The motorcycle club?” Rook scoffs, shaking her head. “Sure, if you want them to bleed us dry. We both know John’s a good talker, an even better negotiator. But I’ve investigated them before—I’ve _met_ Dutch Van Der Linde and Hosea Matthews. You can’t trust a single word that comes out of their mouths.”

“Heard they’re a little unstable at the moment,” Jacob shrugs, icy blue eyes lighting up, leaning closer to her. “I’ve got intel that some jackass named Micah Bell has joined them, and it’s stirred some shit up within their ranks.”

“That doesn’t matter. We can’t trust them.”

Jacob’s serious façade suddenly melts into a grin, razor fucking sharp. Rook’s suddenly all too aware of how close he is.

“What?” She asks, swallowing hard. “What is it?”

“You still give a shit,” he says, voice low. Almost a purr. “You said _‘we.’_ ”

_Shit. Shit. Wasn’t even thinking._ Rook steps back, shaking her head, a sudden panic spiking her pulse. “No. No, no, _no_. I didn’t. _I don’t._ That was—that was just out of habit.”

Jacob takes another step closer, looming over her, dog tags swishing on his chest like a pendulum. “You wanna know why I brought you here?” He scoffs. “Shit, I was surprised that you even showed up.”

“You brought me here for some kind of revenge, I’m guessing,” Rook says, mouth suddenly dry. She takes another step back, desperate for space. “You’re pissed, I get it.”

Jacob just follows her step, he’s no longer grinning. Instead, he looks at her curiously. “Why _did_ you show up, huh? You wanted to see what would happen? Old habits, maybe? Still got it stuck in your head, fuckin’ autopilot for you? I call, you come—no questions, no second thought, is that it?”

“Jacob—”

“Or are you here for more _undercover_ work?” Jacob continues, tone mocking, face twisted into a sneer. “You wearing a wire? Can all your little cop friends hear me, see me?”

“I’m not—I’m not wearing a wire,” Rook says. Her back hits something—the kitchen counter. He’s got her cornered. “ _Why_ did you tell me to come here? To see how much dirt I got on you and your family? Not enough, since you’re all still here and not behind bars. You don’t need to bother with me—”

“I _wanted_ you here to see how much of it was a fucking lie.”

Rook blinks. “Excuse me?”

“Been thinkin’ a lot since you left us.” Jacob leans forward, hands bracing the edge of the counter at her sides—caging her in. “Wanted to see if I was right. Wanted to see if you actually cared.”

Rook sucks in a breath, looking anywhere but at the prying, eviscerating look in Jacob’s blue, blue eyes. “What does it matter?”

She can hear a knuckle crack as Jacob tightens his grip on the countertop’s edge, the pads of his fingers squeaking against the black marbled granite. Voice so low, so husky, it’s a goddamn crime. “It matters.”

“I don’t care about what your brother preaches. I never did,” Rook says firmly, quietly. “I never cared about Eden’s Gate. I never gave a shit about your family’s plans.”

“Seemed to care quite a bit whenever you helped me map out our attacks, our culling. Seemed to care about what happens to all of us,” Jacob near whispers, leaning down so close that she can feel his breath hot on her face. “Just now—you warned me against all those potential deals. Like you said, you don’t work for us anymore. So what made you give a shit about that, huh? Enlighten me, _Deputy.”_

He spits _Deputy_ like it’s venom in his mouth, unable to hide the hurt in his voice, in his eyes.

“Look. The time I spent here—I made mistakes,” Rook begins, standing up straighter, head held high. Holding her fucking ground. He’s trying to pull the intimidation act on her, but Rook isn’t going to let him. “I don’t give two shits about the Project.”

Jacob remains unfazed. He doesn’t look very happy about that admission, but he still looks expectant. Head tilted down to look at her, cold blue eyes watching her intently. Leaning in so close that Rook can see every detail, every scar on his face. The crow’s feet, the frown lines, the dark circles from the demons in his sleep. The old, barely-there scars of chemical burn across his cheeks. Small, silvered cuts from when he served. The newer scars—the split brow and slash above his beard from bad deals, the long, pinkened gash going down his cheekbone from Eli Palmer.

It’s a strange thing, to know so much about a person and then pretend you never knew them at all.

“Cat got your tongue?” Jacob breathes. She’s been staring for too long. “C’mon, you got something to say, don’t ya? It’s written all over your face.”

“Fuck you.”

“I _know_ you. Don’t you forget that,” Jacob sneers, contempt jumping out in the form of a curled lip, bone white teeth. “I thought a lot would change about you after you dropped the act, but you’ve still got the same quirks, the same look in your eye. You’re still a goddamn open book.”

“I don’t _care_ about Eden’s Gate.”

“You care about something, that’s for sure.”

Might as well just let the chips fall, right? She came here for some kind of closure, didn’t she? Might as well just vent about all the shit she’s been keeping cooped up. Jacob’s always been a good listener, if he decides to grant you the time of day, that is.

Fuck it.

“I made the mistake of caring about _people_ ,” Rook hisses. “People I shouldn’t have, people who don’t deserve it. I fucked up, I gave a shit about what happens to Faith, what happens to Lonny—sometimes I even cared about what happens to your goddamn brothers.” Rook juts out her index finger, driving it right past Jacob’s dog tags and into the meat of his chest. “But I guess my biggest, unholy, grandiose _fuck up_ of all fuck ups,” she jabs her pointer finger at him again, and god, she hopes she leaves a bruise, “is giving a shit about what happens to _you_.”

Jacob Seed, the goddamn _sword_ of the Eden’s Gate Mob. Criminal. Hunter. Weapons-dealer. Killer. Brainwasher with a fondness for old music. Fucking _monster_.

Rook saw it all, Rook saw the worst of it. What does that say about her, her self-preservation? She was here to observe and report. Here to ruin him and his family.

And what did she end up doing? She ended up _caring._

_You fucking idiot_ , she thinks to herself as she stares down Jacob _goddamn_ Seed.

Jacob draws back, not dropping his arms from trapping her by the counter, but he puts some breathing room between them again. His brow twitches, mouth curling into something that almost looks like disdain. But Rook knows him well enough to know that whenever he makes that face, the root of it is usually uncertainty.

“That’s cute,” he scoffs, sounding a little hoarse. “You rehearse that with your people back at the precinct?”

“Nobody knows I’m here.”

He frowns down at her, eyes narrowed, a _how stupid do you think I am?_ kind of look.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” Rook says with a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “I’m not working you. I’m not wearing a wire or anything. I—fuck—I’m technically on _vacation_. What the fuck am I doing here?”

Jacob doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, doesn’t do anything except watch her with a guarded expression. 

Rook waits a moment, for any kind of response, a kind _fuck off_ , but instead gets nothing. The silence is like a weight on her chest, about to crush through bone. _It’s too early for this shit._ She pushes one of Jacob’s hands off the counter, a light slap to his scarred forearm, and sidesteps away when he drops his arm.

“I think it’s best for everyone if you don’t contact me again,” Rook says, trying to keep her voice even. She brushes past him, shoes quietly tapping on the marble floor as she heads for the door.

She makes it four steps before Jacob grabs her wrist, the warmth of his palm burning into her skin, tugging slightly to stop her from moving further.

“We’re not done here,” he grates, a sour expression on his face.

Rook spins around to face him, at her wit’s end, and shoves him once with her free hand. “Quit playing games, Jacob. I’ve got better fucking things to do.”

Jacob doesn’t let go of her wrist, the pressure of his grip near bruising. His frown deepens, Adam’s apple bobbing. There’s a far, far away look in his eyes. “You lied.”

“I was doing my job,” Rook says quietly. _Badly_ , she wants to say, _I was doing my job badly._

“And now?” Jacob asks, voice softer than she’s ever heard it. His other hand rises to hold her chin, gently tipping her head up to look at him. He sounds like he’s swallowed a mouthful of gravel, low voice scratched up in his throat. “How much of what you said is true? Say it again. Look me in the fucking eye.”

Rook can hear her pulse thundering in her ears. Ten months—ten fucking months of working for the Seeds, of seeing Jacob all hours of the day every day, and they barely touched that entire time. A professional distance always kept between them despite whatever the fuck was going on with the tension that grew steadily each day. The most they ever touched before this was probably when she was holding him in place after the shit with Pagan Min, and before that it would barely be a brush of hands, a gaze that lingers for a little too long. That was always the extent of it.

So _this_? Standing way too close for the second—no, third time in one day—in one _morning_? Calloused hand braceleting her wrist, thumb pressed against her chin and knuckles gently grazing her throat?

This is too much. Rook’s gonna fucking lose it. This _thing_ that grew slow and steady between them for the better part of a year—Rook was ready to just ignore it. She’s _been_ ignoring it. And now it’s about to snap. Pop like a fucking bubble.

“I fucked up,” Rook murmurs, feeling like she’s burning up. It’s like looking into the fucking sun. His gaze is too close, too intense, but Rook can’t tear her eyes away no matter how much she wants to. “I ended up caring. About you.”

Jacob inhales shakily, face shuttering as his grip tightens around her wrist. He leans in closer, tilting down down down until Rook ends up leaning towards him, against the thumb pressing into her chin, meeting him halfway when he presses his forehead against hers. Rook, quietly freaking out, feels herself lean into him with a heavy sigh.

Forehead touches are the Seed Family’s trademark. Rook’s never been on the receiving end of a Seed forehead touch, it being reserved for the Family and the Family only, but she’s seen them in action. An intense, familial bond displayed in a single touch between bowed heads, usually initiated by Joseph Seed.

This feels entirely different. Neither of them are pulling back. Jacob presses his forehead into hers, the warmth of his skin burning into her own, feeling almost feverish. _That’s what this is—a fever dream._ Rook lets Jacob tilt her head up higher, noses bumping, facial hair tickling her skin. Jacob looks down at her lips, his eyes hooded.

“What are you doing,” she whispers. A question spoken like a statement, a statement that’s secretly an order, a demand. Do _something._

“You betrayed us,” Jacob rasps, his breath hot on her face. He relieves the pressure off her chin, then his thumb treks up, coming to rest on the center of her bottom lip, pressing lightly. He starts to lightly trace the length of her lip. So slow, so enthralled, as if he’s trying to memorize the very feel of it.

Rook has never seen Jacob Seed _gentle._ It might just be the strangest fucking thing she’s ever seen.

He stops, pulls back ever so slightly so that their faces are no longer touching. Close, too close, but just enough space left between them for Rook to get her thoughts in order. His thumb leaves her lips and he drags his hand down to cage around her throat, closing around her neck just shy of uncomfortable.

“You betrayed us,” he says again, more like a growl this time, like he’s trying to reason with himself. He glares down at her, pupils dilated, but anger renewed. “A goddamn _cop_. How the fuck am I supposed to trust that there isn’t anyone else listening in right now?”

“What if—” Rook pauses, her mind screaming at her to get out now. To go right out the door and never come back. There’s still time, she hasn’t damned herself yet.

Jacob leans closer, watching, waiting. Rook swallows hard, feels Jacob’s thumb roll over her throat.

“What if I could prove it to you?” She pulls her wrist out of Jacob’s grasp and holds his forearm with both hands, distantly realizing that this is the first time she’s touched the scars there, that Jacob _never_ lets anyone this close to his scars.

“How?” Jacob’s voice so low, so hoarse, it almost makes her knees weak. His eyes dart down to her hands around his arm, his scars, then back at her face, scrutinizing. He gives her throat an apprehensive little squeeze. A warning, but she’s not sure what for.

Rook slides her hands down his arm to hold his wrist. A moment passes, every other sound drowned out by the thundering of her blood rushing through her ears. _Thud and thud and thud._

Then Rook pulls Jacob’s hand close, pressing his palm flat against her chest, foolishly, right over her rabbit heart. “Check me for a wire.”

Jacob makes a gutted, breathless sound as his head sways close, nose brushing hers. “That’s how it’s gonna be, huh?”

“Go ahead. Check me.” Whose conviction would Jacob fully trust but his own, after all?

Jacob lets out a quiet scoff and releases her neck, the air in the room suddenly feeling so much colder compared to the warmth of his hand. He grips her shoulder, holding her steady, then starts to roam her chest with his other hand. Tracing her collarbones over the fabric of her shirt, outrageously skipping over her breasts through a modesty she didn’t know was possible from him, and settles high above her navel, tracing circles over her ribcage.

“You know,” Rook breathes, “wires would typically be worn under the shirt.”

“You’re playing with fuckin’ fire, _Deputy_ ,” Jacob warns, fingers digging into her shoulder.

Working around the Seeds for ten months, Rook’s been cut, punched, and fucking _shot_ at. Yeah, she’s playing with fire, but it’s just another hazard to the long list. Maybe she wouldn’t mind getting a little burned.

Jacob’s already left his scars, deep beneath her skin, right to the marrow. Like the old third-degree burns on Jacob’s skin. Rook’s never gonna get him out.

So she does the only thing her Jacob-drunk mind can think of and lets him right in.

It’s like kissing a statue at first—Jacob freezing up the moment she grabs him by the shirt and reaches up to press her lips against his. Hands bunching the chain of his dog tags, the bloodstained fabric of his shirt. Clutching right where those smeared handprints are of his most recent punching bag.

He only reacts when Rook takes his bottom lip between her teeth and bites. The nip of teeth is like a jumpstart of electricity. Jacob groans and opens his mouth to her, hands suddenly bracing her arms at each side and guiding her around, back to the spot against the kitchen counter he’d trapped her by before.

They both have the same idea, because the second Rook starts to lift herself up onto the counter, Jacob’s hoisting her up onto the countertop like she weighs nothing. Once Rook is settled, barely seated on the edge and locking her legs around Jacob’s waist, Jacob dutifully returns to the task she had assigned him.

Rook’s supposed to be out buying a new phone or catching up with Hudson over a cup of coffee. Or, considering the time and day, she should still be fucking sleeping right now. Yet here she is, about to hit second-base with Jacob fucking Seed.

Jacob’s hands snake underneath her shirt, drawing a small gasp out of Rook when he drags his warm, warm hands across her stomach, pinching the skin of her waist. Jacob kisses her hard, exploring every bit of her mouth with his tongue, his facial hair scraping against her face. Rook leans in closer, tangling her fingers in his hair, kissing back with vigor, teeth clashing, lips bruising.

“Don’t think you’re wearing a wire,” Jacob hums against her face, voice low and hoarse, peppering light kisses across her cheek, down her jaw.

“Really?” Rook says, gasping when he cups her breasts, a thumb flicking over one of her nipples through her bra.

“Can’t fuckin’ trust you still, though,” Jacob mutters. His hands snake around her back and unhook her bra. “So I should be thorough.”

Then there’s a knock. Knuckles rapping impatiently on Jacob’s door. Voices on the other side, muffled and close.

“Shit,” Jacob hisses. He extracts his hands from her beneath her shirt and rests them on her denim-clad thighs, gripping tight as he leans his forehead against hers again, eyes shut. “What’s today?”

Rook cradles his face in her hands, feeling the fuzz of his beard against her palms. She whispers, “Sunday.”

“Shit.”

The knocking starts again. This time louder, sharper. A fist pounding against the door.

_“Jacob! Wake up! Stop moping about the traitor, we’re going to be late for Joseph’s mass.”_

_“John, be nicer.”_ The next words are spoken quieter, but now that Jacob and Rook are silent and listening, it’s not quiet enough. _“She obviously has him going through something. It affected all of us differently.”_

Rook bites her lip hard, trying to stifle the ridiculous urge to giggle—to fucking _giggle._

_“We’re going to be late, Faith. We’re never late.”_

_“Fine. You’re right.”_

_“JACOB!”_ More knocking. _“It’s 8:53, get up!”_

God, Rook almost forgot how insistent John can be.

Jacob tears away from Rook with a sound that’s closer to a snarl than a sigh. He strides over to his door and cracks it open, using his body to block his siblings’ view of the apartment’s interior. Rook sighs quietly and hops off the counter, reaching behind to redo the clasp on her bra.

“Go already,” Jacob grumbles to them, curt, “I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Are you—”

“Wait in the goddamn car,” he says and shuts the door.

Jacob stands facing the door, listening to Faith and John mutter to each other and leave. When he’s sure they’ve gone, he steps away from the door and slowly turns around.

Rook smooths down her shirt and combs her hair with her fingers, doing her best to look like Jacob wasn’t just running his hands all over her.

“I like you here,” Jacob says. He frowns, fists clenched at his sides, like he didn’t mean to say that.

Rook barks out a laugh, a bitter sound. “You should have said that months ago.”

“Would this shit have turned out differently if I did?”

“Probably not.”

Jacob nods, lips pressed into a thin line, a muscle tensing in his jaw.

They stand there for a while, just staring, holding back words that would make this worse. Jacob is the first to break eye contact, shaking his head and taking a step towards his boots resting by the door. He shucks them on, swipes his gun and keys off the counter, tucks the gun into his waistband behind him, and grabs his military jacket of a nearby chair.

“Come on,” he says gruffly, shrugging the jacket on and opening the door again. He jerks his head in motion for her to go out first. “You’re taking the stairs.”

“You know it’s not a secret I’m here, right?” Rook snorts, walking out the door. She waits for Jacob to exit and lock his door before continuing down the hall. “The guards outside know. Lonny knows. Which means John probably knows, or _will_ know. And Faith just knows everything. Joseph too.”

“I know,” Jacob mutters, keeping a good distance between them as they walk. It’s painfully familiar. They stop in front of the staircase landing. “Just don’t want them to bother me about yo— _this_ yet.”

Rook glances at the stairs, then back to Jacob, who’s standing so much closer again. She smacks her lips. She doesn’t know what to say. She knows what she _wants_ to say. “Jacob—”

Cold eyes flash. “Don’t.”

Rook nods, exhaling shakily, and steps back. She turns around and starts down the stairs, pretending that everything is okay. She reaches the bottom of the flight and stops when Jacob speaks again, rough voice projected slightly by the acoustics of the stairwell.

“Don’t come back.”

Rook frowns up at him, white knuckling the railing. “I won’t. Don’t contact me. This can’t happen again.”

Jacob nods stiffly, expression unreadable. “This can’t happen again.”

And then he leaves, disappearing around the corner towards the elevators.

Rook makes it down three floors before she stops, falls back to sit on the steps, and tries to banish the hollow feeling in her chest.

It’s for the best.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm sorry it's not a happy ending :( this ship is kind of doomed to me in this au, it hurts me and i love it
> 
> also, it's really been a while since i've written jacob and played far cry 5 so i'm sorry if some stuff seems glaringly ooc, idk
> 
> but anyway i'm really into this au in my head, i think i got way too caught up on how the far cry universe (with a hint of rdr2) adapts into it lmao
> 
> i hope you guys liked it!! thank you for reading <3 <3
> 
> [tumblr <3](https://lowtldes.tumblr.com/)


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